Crowbar
by lunakatrina
Summary: The worst day of Harry's life, and subsequent happenings...involves wand explosions, severe hand injuries, and naturally a crowbar...that Harry uses to bash in some Death Eaters' heads...
1. Chapter 1

Me and my craziness strike again...

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with him...

**Crowbar**

_Chapter One_

Now, Harry would be the first to admit that he'd had a lot of bad moments in his life and that it would certainly be presumptuous of him to even contemplate naming one of these bad moments the worst.

But Harry was sure this moment could go down as _the_ _worst day of his life._

Harry couldn't quite recall how the battle had ended up in this desolate deserted part of some muggle town, all that he knew was that by the time the battle had filtered out into the street there was a good possibility Hermione was dead and Remus was following in her ghostly footsteps.

Luckily, the shock still weighed so heavily upon Harry's body he couldn't think about it…course that could've been the adrenaline.

Or the fact that he was being cornered by five Death Eaters who were, obviously, after his blood…there was really no telling.

Harry stumbled backwards trying to save his own skin, hoping he'd be able to carry out this task even though the odds weren't very high, considering the luck Harry'd seen others face.

Of course, Lady Luck and Harry had never really gotten along:

Harry fell straight on his ass after tripping over a large crack in the pavement, and the death eater pursuing him began laughing as they finally closed in around him. Thank god for small mercies, Harry hadn't lost hold on his wand.

Harry's quickly moved to push himself up, and his left hand fell on something cold and rough-textured.

Harry glanced down next to him, and decided he's spoken too soon, and should apologize to Miss Luck. Harry closed his hand around the crowbar and pushed himself to his feet, wasting no time before gripping the crowbar between his right and left hand, his wand flush to the metal, and swinging as hard as he could at the nearest death eater's head.

The man fell out cold, his dented mask clattering aside.

The other death eaters paused, just for a second at this new development, but that was just enough time for Harry to stun another death eater and prepare to strike the next nearest one with the crowbar.

Harry bashed the death eater's shoulder with the crowbar, and the crunch the bones made was more than satisfying enough to make up for the fact that Harry had been aiming for his head. Harry swung the crowbar once more, and this time it collided with the death eater's mask with a strange, sickening crack. The man dropped to the ground, his mask bent in disturbingly, blood seeping out through the eye and nose holes of his mask.

Disgusted and frightened at what he had done Harry ended up dwelling longer than he probably should have…

He was hit with a nasty spell that sent pain lacing straight across his back, Harry's eyes blanked for just a moment. But he couldn't let that one spell decapitate him, he spun around as fast as his injury would allow and yelled, "_Impedimenta_!"

Harry's blindly cast spell actually managed to hit one of the two remaining death eaters attacking him, but that did nothing to stop the spell the last death eater threw at him. Harry's only instinct was to transfer his wand to his left hand, and throw his right, holding the crowbar, up as a shield.

The spell collided with the metal in a dizzying array of colors and electric-like energy that coursed through the metal of the crowbar and into Harry's body. It didn't hurt; it felt fizzy like coke and charged like static electricity. It floundered in his body for a moment and Harry's brain felt pleasantly cloudy from it, and then with the speed of time start again, it fled from his body through any escape it could find.

He remembered seeing his breath come out a smoky blue-purple, and the same color crackle out of the hair that was long enough to fall into his eyes. Harry couldn't report details though, because at that very moment his hand was hit with an explosion with enough force to throw him several feet away.

The pain was blinding, it felt like his hand had been caught on fire, stabbed, broken, and then pounded with a meat tenderizer. The same pain was scattered across the whole left side of his body, and a strange energy, similar to the one that had flooded him before and way more powerful pushed into his body and then forced itself out again.

When Harry woke up again, he was aware of someone screaming, the noise echoed in his ears painfully, but nothing like the giant, swollen-feeling of being completely made out of blinding pain.

He was aware when he was being rushed through the hallways of Hogwarts, being irritated, in the way a rash was irritating, by whatever it was that was holding him as he watched through his lashes the faces of the students he passed.

He was also aware, despite the complete utter achiness pervading all his senses, that his face itched and his eyes felt like they were _melting_ out of their sockets and down his cheeks.

He heard, felt a large echoing whimper, and then woke up to a blissful floating sensation.

Madam Pomfrey was staring fixedly at something, and Harry felt his lips crinkled up into a goofy smile.

"Hullo," he said woozily, but it sounded strange and distorted to Harry's own ears.

Madam Pomfrey's head snapped up and she smiled at him, after studying his face for a moment, "Hello there, Harry," she greeted, "how are you doing young man?"

Harry felt like he meant to say fine, but a content murmuring sound came out instead.

"That's good," Madam Pomfrey replied, and Harry was glad that she could understand him; they could have such a lovely conversation now.

Harry asked her what she was doing, because it must be interesting if she was studying it that hard. Harry was vaguely aware that it sounded strange, but since Madam Pomfrey could understand him it was okay.

"One of my patients is very hurt," she replied, gently and kindly, "I'm just fixing him up. Are you feeling hurt right now, Harry?"

Her voice was pretty floaty and it made Harry feel tired, so he decided to go to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

A big thanks to all of those who reviewed, I'm glad you liked the first chapter

_Chapter Two_

Harry wasn't sure how much later it was when his eyes blinked open. He looked around the dark hospital wing, lit only from the full or nearly full moon and then lifted his hand to scratch his nose. The was kept from moving, and Harry looked down and saw his heavily bandaged right hand was propped on a pillow and probably had a spell on it to keep him from moving it. Harry glanced at his left hand and saw that it was bandaged just as much…

Harry's nose still itched, but now he was wondering how his hands had gotten in this condition. He didn't appear to be injured anywhere else.

Harry's brow scrunched up as he tried his best to remember how his hands got hurt…and then it hit him, the memory of the battle and the even more vivid memory of the extreme pain he'd felt in his hands.

Harry looked down at his bandaged hands once more, this time with a bit of respect—he was honestly surprised they were still _there_. Then he wondered why they weren't hurting right now, he figured they probably should be.

"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey's tired voice rang out into the darkness, "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Harry replied, "What time is it? How long have I been out?"

Madam Pomfrey bustled over and began clucking her tongue as she looked over him, "It's about 4 AM, Mr. Potter; it's only been a day. You were in pretty bad shape when you were brought in and you were floating in and out of consciousness until we medicated you, then you calmed down a lot and were conscious for most of your treatment…until you went to sleep."

"I was awake?" Harry asked in confusion, "I don't remember much."

"I'm not surprised," Madam Pomfrey replied, "we drugged you up to your ears, at first, because we couldn't treat you."

Harry's brow scrunched up in confusion and he blinked quickly, trying to figure out why they couldn't treat him.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to understand his confusion and went on to explain, "You were exhibiting sensitivity to magic. Which, if your wand exploded would make sense—"

"My _wand_!" Harry exclaimed, "my wand _exploded_?!"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, but it can be replaced with a trip to Diagon Alley," Madam Pomfrey replied. "There will be scaring on your hand, where your wand exploded because we couldn't treat it immediately; the same goes for your right hand. We still aren't sure why the metal object was destroyed."

"The metal—oh! You mean the crowbar?" Harry asked. "Hey, Madam Pomfrey, why don't my hands hurt?"

"When we put the constricting and cushioning charms on them we also numbed them, because the pain seemed to be incredibly awful and it would be dangerous to treat you with anymore pain potions."

"Oh…" Harry murmured, "Are my hands going to be okay? They won't have to be amputated will they?"

"No, though the scarring will be quite horrible," she told him, seriously, "I do think you'll be able to have full muscle function in both your hands though, which is quite lucky."

Harry built his lip and stared down at the white bandages covering his hands, "Madam Pomfrey…can I…see them?"

"See what, Mr. Potter?"

"My hands, can I see them?" Harry asked, "I mean, don't the bandages need to be changed anyway?"

"I'm not sure that's wise, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey replied softly, visibly reluctant to do as Harry asked.

"You called me Harry when I was drugged up, didn't you?" Harry asked.

For some reason, this random question had a visible effect on Madam Pomfrey and she looked as though she'd been struck, but she didn't look any closer to allowing Harry to see his hands…if they still looked like hands. Harry imagined them as red-ish purple slugs—probably the same color as Uncle Vernon's face when he was angry.

"I'm only going to see them anyway, Madam Pomfrey," Harry continued, "and it's best if I see them now, that way any improvement would be welcome and I won't become resentful…and bitter."

Madam Pomfrey looked torn and she slowly replied, "I think we should wait a day, or so, before you see your hands unbandaged. They're in very bad condition right now—"

Harry lost hold of his patience and replied, almost yelling, "I'm not a woman in the middle ages! I can stand to see _my own _fucking _hands_!"

Madam Pomfrey looked as though she'd been struck, but immediately turned toward some medical supplies on the bedside table next to him.

"You _will not _like what you see, Mr. Potter, and _do not_ blame me—"

"I won't," Harry replied, knowing he'd won the argument, "I know when things are my fault…though I know I don't act like it a lot of times."

Madam Pomfrey put scissors to the bandage and carefully cut through it, Harry couldn't even feel the cold metal on his skin—he hoped that was the numbing spell and not nerve damage. Madam Pomfrey carefully removed the bandaged, and clucked her tongue at something; Harry was steadfastly staring up at the ceiling, gearing himself to look at it.

Madam Pomfrey took a vial from the bedside table and began applying whatever it was to his hand, not that he could feel it. _Okay_, Harry said to himself, _one for the money, two for the show, three to get ready—_

Harry looked down at his hand…it still looked like a hand with was a good thing.

"My wand did that?" Harry asked in horror, clearing his throat afterward hopefully to keep his voice from cracking again.

"This was the hand that held the metal ob—"

"Crowbar," Harry corrected automatically, eyes riveted on his hand. The majority of his hand was a bright pink or a pale red, but that turned into a dark purple, which toward the middle of his palm and the tips of his fingers darkened into black. His hand was swollen, and shiny from whatever it was Madam Pomfrey was liberally applying onto his skin. Then there were thick strange, silvery threads swirling across his hands, and Harry had no idea what that was.

His hands looked like they were decomposing, and he could visibly see the shape of his bones under the black skin that clung to his skeleton, like there were no muscles or blood vessels underneath.

Madam Pomfrey continued the treatment of Harry's hand as he watched. He only looked away from the dead looking thing that was actually part of his body…if the whole arm that was connected to it was anything to go by.

As Madam Pomfrey began bandaging his hand, Harry cleared his throat and asked, "What's that silvery stuff?"

"Pieces metal that were melted into your skin," Madam Pomfrey replied, "once your skin is healthier, it should be relatively easy to get the metal out, and what's left will be gradually rejected by your body."

Madam Pomfrey reached for her scissors again and rounded the bed, she paused before lowering the blades: "Are you sure you want to see this?"

"Definitely," Harry replied strongly, and Madam Pomfrey cut through this bandage. Harry watched the whole time as the damaged skin was revealed. This hand, compared to the other, looked perfectly healthy.

But then when Madam Pomfrey's hands entered the picture with her salve, it was very easy to see what was wrong with the appendage.

Dark brown scabs of varying sizes littered Harry's hands, there was a strange sort of paste covering the larger sores which weren't scabbed, but looked like they'd just finished oozing blood. His entire hand was green and black from bruising, but the largest thing on his palm was a huge starburst pattern that looked like it'd been branded into his skin. It covered his entire palm, along with the cuts, and housed tiny swirls and ripples, and was bright red and swollen where it wasn't bruised.

"That's…almost beautiful," Harry murmured to himself.

"It's good that you think so," Madam Pomfrey interrupted and Harry felt an inexplicable embarrassment at being overheard, "because you'll be looking at it for the rest of your life."

Her tone was almost accusatory and Harry quickly defended himself with, "It's not my fault my wand exploded."

Madam Pomfrey's response was to make a noise in her throat that was neither positive nor negative, and Harry supposed there was no true way to make her change her mind in the matter. Madam Pomfrey finished with this hand quite a bit sooner, and Harry lay back on the bed as she wound the bandage around his hand.

"Now, I think you should go straight back to sleep, Mr. Potter, you've put yourself through quite the ordeal."

"My hands will be fully functional though, right?" Harry asked, as she organized all of her supplies on the bedside table next to him.

"Yes, it's mainly the surface damage we were unable to correct, there's nothing to worry about, Mr. Potter. Now, I ask that you go back to sleep."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes relaxing back into the pillows, it was uncomfortable being unable to move his hands from where they were propped next to him, but he was exhausted enough that it shouldn't cause a problem.

What did cause a problem was that his sleepy thoughts drifted back to the battle where he'd injured his hands in the first place, which reminded him about the fact that both Remus and Hermione were potentially dead, and he'd forgotten to ask about them.

The guilt and worry ate at him, until he either passed out or dropped into a deep sleep from exhaustion.


	3. Chapter 3

Anti-climaticness and boringness, but whatever

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I lurb all of you!

_Chapter 3_

"Harry! You're alive!"

Harry jumped, and did so visibly, he was sure. Fluffy brown hair was stuffed in his face, and warm squishy weight was pressed on top of him…well, that answered the question of Hermione's health.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter is severely injured, extract yourself immediately!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed in horror.

Hermione jumped back, and Harry smiled at her…only to remember for the first time that he didn't have his glasses on!

"Madam Pomfrey, how can I see?" Harry asked, not that he wasn't pleased about the situation.

"We think it had something to do with the magical reaction," Hermione explained before Madam Pomfrey got the chance, "there is no telling the potential side effects you might have—"

"If you would hold your explanation for just a moment Miss Granger, it would be better for Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey interjected. "If his pain medication wears off, he will be in no shape to appreciate your genius."

There was no telling if that was a truthful or sarcastic remark.

Hermione stepped out of the near vicinity and Madam Pomfrey held out a potion and after she'd watched, with vulture's eyes, him drink it all down. She began to change the bandage on his left hand, it was stained, but not with blood. There was a strange darkish pink mixed in with blue and purple and even a little green and yellow…it was _nasty_.

"What _is_ _that_?" Harry demanded feeling disgusted.

"A small amount of blood mixed with the medication, pus, and various impurities from your hands," Madam Pomfrey replied without blinking. "I should all clear up in a couple of days, Mr. Potter, although there is no telling when your hands will be completely healed."

Harry looked at his hand, and where the blue and purple came from was immediately explained. It was oozing like congealing blood from the starburst star on his palm; the whole scar looked like it had hand been injected with blue and purple dye—

"It didn't look like that last night!" Harry exclaimed, "That can't be normal!"

"It is normal, and I imagine it will look quite different tomorrow as well, magical injuries are quite imperceptible, Mr. Potter."

She finished rubbing the green salve onto his hand and then began to bandage the hand up.

"Do you have any sensation in your hands, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she moved herself and her supplies to the other side of the bed.

"No," Harry asked, "Should I?"

"No, I imagine it will be a little while before the numbing spell fully wears off," Madam Pomfrey replied, and she cut into the bandage on his right hand, "You'll be pleased to note this one is only a spot of blood and some medication that has rubbed off. The steel is still imbedded in your hand, though."

Harry turned to look at this hand, and decided it looked like a really bad case of frostbite, except the hand was bleeding in a few spots as well…how did these things always manage to happen to him?

"You'll also need to drink this, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said once she'd finished work on his hand, "I've never seen anyone manage to loose this much blood from a hand injury, but nothing's impossible for you, is it, Mr. Potter?"

"That's placing a high value on my abilities," Harry replied with a grin, "thanks for the vote of confidence."

Madam Pomfrey huffed in annoyance, and held out a vial, and Harry quickly downed it, he managed to keep a straight face, but wasn't able to stop the fierce gag when the aftertaste hit his tongue.

"And that will be all, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said, taking the vial and cleaning up all the supplies she'd used, "I'll send Miss Granger in, right away, but she won't be able to stay long. You need your rest."

Madam Pomfrey left through the privacy curtain.

"Oh, Harry, you would not believe all that I've been researching since the battle! It's absolutely fascinating! Let me tell you—"

"Hi, Hermione, it's nice to see you," Harry interjected pleasantly, "I'm fine, no pain or anything, thanks for asking."

Hermione flushed and looked down, bushy hair covering part of her face and she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry! I've just been helping the order research and I forget that it's not just for academics, that you're actually up here…"

Harry smiled and replied, "It's okay, I understand how you get when you're around books."

"Not _books_, Harry Potter," She replied, offended, "besides I'm trying to help you…not that there's really much we can do."

"What did happen?" Harry asked, "I know that my wand exploded, but why?"

"From what we've gathered," Hermione replied, looking around for a place to sit, and then carefully alighting on the edge of Harry's bed, "the spell the death eater threw at you, you tried to block it with the crowbar you were holding, right?"

Harry nodded in agreement, he remembered that, and then he added, "Not that it was supposed to do something…"

"Well, it did. The metal of the crowbar worked as a conductor for the magic, like it would electricity and all of the magic flowed into you, and then tried to get out," Hermione explained. "And it would have been okay, if the magic hadn't hit your wand, but it did. The magic overloaded your wand and caused it to explode, releasing more magic into your body, that also had to get out...and the magic that tried to get out through the crowbar, overheated the metal and caused it to melt as you held it."

Harry let all of this sink in for a moment and then asked, "And that's what happened?"

"That's what happened," Hermione agreed.

"The…that _crowbar_ did this?" Harry demanded, "It's not even magical!"

"Which is part of why it's so amazing," Hermione agreed, clearly not feeling the same way Harry felt about it. "No one was aware that metal, by itself, could channel magic!"

Harry shook his head in slight annoyance at Hermione's exuberance and asked, "Is it here?"

"Is what here?"

"The crowbar, is it here, or did they leave it there? Has it been thrown away?" Harry asked.

"Well, I know that it was brought here with you, because it was melted into your bones, practically," Hermione replied haltingly, "I don't know what they did with it, though."

"Can you ask?"

Hermione nodded and replied, "Yes, I suppose I can…"

When Harry said nothing more, but continued looking at Hermione pointedly, she slowly stood up and brushed her clothes into place and then slipped out between the privacy curtains. Harry couldn't hear the conversation between her and Madam Pomfrey, but he could see their shadows, and neither of them looked very happy.

Well, Harry wasn't happy either, damnit. He wanted to see what had done this to him…besides his reflexes.

Little did he know what a wild goose chase the whole thing would turn out to be.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry, it took so long, and I'm sorry about what I did this chapter, but I felt like I had to...in retrospect maybe Hermione should've gotten it, but whatever...enjoy...I hope...

_**Chapter Four**_

Two hours later, and Harry, who was bored out of his mind, hadn't seen hide nor hair of Madam Pomfrey or Hermione…or anybody else.

Harry was bored out of his mind, and despite the fact he was supposed to be exhausted or something, he didn't feel the least bit tired. And it wasn't like he could do anything that didn't require hands…

Why the magical world thought they were so much superior to the muggle world was beyond him…Harry wanted a TV and he wanted one now, damnit!

This was getting pathetic.

No, it was pathetic, it had been pathetic from the get-go, and it would never stop being pathetic.

If Harry weren't so bored…he would cry.

He was also hungry, but there was little he could do seeing as how his hands were magically restrained, not that he could have eaten for the same reason. And was there a possibility his pain medicine could wear off? Harry was pretty sure he didn't want to feel that…

And dear lord, there was someone snooping just outside his privacy curtains, he could see the person's shadow on the cloth. Well, snooping wasn't the best word; it was more like staggering…

The person stumbled into the curtains and it was only when Harry heard absolutely nothing that he realized everything outside the curtains had been silenced. Harry shifted himself up a bit more so he could better watched intruder that was more likely a patient of Madam Pomfrey's up and wandering around when he or she should be resting.

The person stumbled along the curtains a bit more and then, when reaching the opening, pulled the curtains apart.

"Remus?!" Harry exclaimed in shock of the haggard and wounded man's appearance.

"Oh, Harry, thank god you're all right," Remus gasped and he quickly made his way over to Harry's bed. Harry shifted his legs up, so his knees were tenting the generic hospital cloth, his feet planted on the mattress.

"Remus, sit down, please!" Harry urged the man, who followed Harry's instruction. Though there was no telling if it was because he was so exhausted he couldn't stand anymore or if he was just doing as Harry asked.

Remus winced as he sat, one arm wrapped around his chest as he wheezed, the other trembling as it supported Remus' weight.

"I was worried that you'd been hit with something," Remus wheezed to Harry, "Scariest moment of my life. I don't," Remus wheezed in a rattling breath and Harry felt a tendril of panic curl in his stomach. "…don't know what I would've done…They didn't tell me what happened though."

"A magical reaction or something," Harry replied distractedly, "Remus, are you okay? Maybe you should lie down for a minute and rest a little."

Remus shook his head, a wry smile on his face, and asked, "What happened to you, Harry? Just tell me you're all right."

"I'm fine," Harry replied, "but you certainly aren't—"

"I've had worse," Remus replied, and Harry was sure he would have waved the question off if he could have risked the energy, "comes with being a werewolf. I just got hit with a few spells, don't worry about me."

Harry studied Remus suspiciously, taking in how painful his wheezing breaths seemed to be…and then it hit Harry:

"Are your ribs broken?" He demanded incredulously.

Remus smiled his wry smile again, and didn't answer, and Harry began to get really worried.

"Clam down, Harry," Remus said after a moment, "I'll be just fine, nothing I haven't lived with before."

Harry continued looking at him skeptically, and Remus continued his labored breathing…

Moments later, Remus said, his breath wheezing more labouredly now, "Harry…whate—ever…hap—pens…don't…worry…"

Harry straightened in alarm and took in the rather pathetic picture Remus made and demanded, "Remus?"

Remus' skin rapidly paled and he swayed for a moment before the arm supporting him buckled and he fell unconscious across Harry's legs.

"Remus!" Harry exclaimed and then he yelled, "Madam Pomfrey! Help! Help!"

This had to be the scariest moment of Harry's life.

As Remus slowly began turning blue, Harry amended that statement: this is the scariest moment of his life.

…Or it was until Madam Pomfrey and Hermione walked through the privacy curtain and ruined it. Madam Pomfrey stopped in her tracks a second after walking in and stared at Remus in a mixture of confusion and horror.

"Don't just stand there!" Harry yelled, "Do something!"

She immediately flicked her gaze up to Harry and glared at him before leaping into action and whisking Remus away…which, for some reason, didn't do much to alleviate Harry's fears.

Dumbledore quickly followed after Madam Pomfrey which left Harry staring, still feeling anxious and worried, at Hermione who looked like she'd been struck.

Harry tried to calm himself down and then noticed something that Hermione held in her hand.

"Is that it?" Harry asked, pointing to her hand.

"Yes," Hermione replied, walking over to his bed and holding it up before him, "Dumbledore wasn't overly keen on letting it go, but he figured since he couldn't find any magical residue, it would be okay to let you look at it before he destroyed it."

Harry looked at the crowbar, he wasn't quite sure what he'd expected it to look like…but he was somewhat disappointed by how un-sinister the crowbar appeared. It looked like a plain, simple crowbar…until the metal bent and twisted off into nothing, probably where he'd held it. It certainly did look like it'd been melted in a really hot furnace, it was really hard to believe that his hand had done that…well technically magic did it, but that would just make it entirely believable, that didn't work out as well.

Hermione began fidgeting a little and then said, "Well, I'd best take this back to Dumbledore then…"

What Hermione said moments earlier suddenly flashed back into Harry's brain, "Wait, he's going to destroy it right?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "it's a lot safer for you this way, even though there's no magical residue there could be skin, bone, or blood tissues left in the metal from where they melted together."

"I…I guess I understand that, but…" Harry couldn't explain it, but after seeing the damn thing…he really kinda just…

"I want to keep it," he declared abruptly.

Hermione looked taken aback, "Well…"

"I mean, it's safe if I keep it, right? I'm going to be safe, and it's not like I'm going to use it against myself." Harry told her, "I want to keep it, and I don't think there's any harm in that."

"But…Dumbledore," Hermione reminded him.

"Don't worry," Harry replied, "just leave it with me, and I'll explain it to him, I won't let you get in any trouble."

"Because you're so good at that," Hermione mumbled, but she clearly didn't think that Harry heard her, and Harry wasn't sure that he really wanted to go there right now. But the bubbling resentment in his chest let him know that he would probably never forgive her for that.

Hermione was still looking at him, unsure and slightly upset, and Harry tried not to let the hurt show on his face. Hermione had always stood by him before…was it because she'd gotten hurt during the battle? She appeared to have recovered just fine…and then Harry wondered why he was worrying about her, after what she'd just said…

Harry dropped those thoughts and continued entreating Hermione, "Please Hermione, just let me keep it, I'll handle Dumbledore…and if he really thinks it's best that the crowbar's destroyed then I'll let him do it."

…Not bloody likely, though.

"I think you should discuss this with Dumbledore first, Harry, really. He'll explain everything about it to you, I'm sure."

Also not bloody likely.

"And then you'll see that you don't want or need it and then it will be destroyed and it won't loom over anyone's head, like you know it would if Dumbledore had to take it away from you."

Harry would still loom it over everyone's head if he didn't get the damn crowbar like he wanted.

So that also equaled not bloody likely, and that was Hermione's third strike.

"Just give me the fucking crowbar, Hermione," Harry would've growled if he had the ability to do so, as it was he just barely managed to skip "pissy prima donna" and hit "fed up."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"Hermione!" Harry gasped right back at her, "Give me the crowbar!"

"I really don't think that would be best," Hermione told him, "I'm going to give this back to Dumbledore now, goodbye."

"There are a lot of things in my life that would have been best for me," Harry retorted right as she turned to leave, "and strangely enough, they weren't what _everyone_ _else_ ended up doing."

Hermione froze in her tracks.

"Now, please…give me the crowbar."

As he told Hermione to just put the crowbar beside his arm, which she did, he congratulated himself on a job well done. Now just needed to make sure that he didn't let Dumbledore take it from him…

He couldn't really believe that he was getting so strung out over a crowbar, but he just couldn't shake the weird feeling he got from the thing. That didn't make any sense either, because according to Hermione and even Dumbledore there was no magic on the crowbar…

Harry shrugged it off and moved his arm as best he could, considering that his hands were pinned down to the bed (magically), and managed to make it so the crowbar could not be entirely easily removed. He also wasn't dying of discomfort.

Now he just had to wait for Dumbledore to come so that he could overcome the next hurdle.

…Unfortunately, Dumbledore never came.

Remus was in critical condition, apparently one of his broken ribs had punctured his lung and he'd been slowly drowning and bleeding to death the entire time he'd looked for and spoken to Harry.

Harry was told by a tearful Madam Pomfrey two days later that Remus slipped into a coma while she healed him and the transformation on the full moon earlier that night had put his body under so much stress that he'd died before the transformation was even halfway through.

Harry was completely orphaned now.


	5. Chapter 5

sorry, this one took so long...but on the plus side the fic is now complete (gasp, shock, horror...the world is clearly ending) and the next chapters should be posted soonish...

umm, so everyone enjoy

_**Chapter Five**_

Somehow, having the crowbar didn't seem as important in retrospect. Maybe, he thought to himself, if he hadn't asked for the crowbar Remus might've lived...because then Madam Pomfrey would have been here when Remus went in search of Harry. But that just led back to the thought that Madam Pomfrey shouldn't have left the hospital wing in the first place.

It was all too late though, and there was no way he could ever get Remus back.

But he still had the crowbar…because it had been forgotten in light of Remus' death.

But Remus' funeral coincided with a wonderful day: the day he would be released from the hospital wing with his hands almost entirely healed, save a few minor scabs that would clear up in a few days.

Harry quietly sat through the small private funeral, his hands clenched tightly together as he stared pointedly away from the coffin that would be burned with Remus' body in it. He could feel strange tingles running through his left hand as his fingers pressed down on the strangely beautiful scar that remained. It still had a vague purple-bluish tinge to it that Harry was sure would remain there for a while.

Harry refused to shake anyone's hand or show anyone his scars, not because he was too despondent over Remus' death (though it was true), or because he was too ashamed of his scars (which was quickly becoming untrue—they were fascinating to look at, and he swore the one on his left hand _moved_), or because his hands were still sore (which they weren't). It was because his hands felt so strange…maybe it was just having them out of the bandages, but Harry couldn't quite place what the feeling was.

It was just wrong to touch anyone directly…at least for now, and Harry really couldn't explain why.

Harry also didn't like to touch things, his left palm had brushed over the chair as he sat down and it sent strange a strange uncomfortable feeling stinging through his hand all the way up to his shoulder. It had also been like that as he'd dressed this morning; it had _almost_ hurt every time he'd touched his clothes, but after he'd worn them for a few minutes it no longer bothered him.

It had been completely _bizarre_, but he didn't feel the need to tell anyone.

He did wonder if perhaps he should…but they'd been trying to steal his crowbar systematically for three days, so Harry didn't feel the need to offer up any information at the moment.

Harry's right hand floated to his pocket where he'd put the crowbar, his right hand felt like it was almost magnetized to the damn thing.

It felt like his whole body, and his life, had changed in a week.

And Harry wasn't happy about that.

Harry clenched his fists tighter at Hermione leaned over and cried on his shoulder, he felt like he should comfort her, but there was no way he was touching _anything_. So Harry just rested his head on top of hers and stared blanking into the rising flames of the funeral pyre.

Hermione pulled away a little later rubbing at her eyes; she placed a dainty hand on his shoulder and then gave him a quick hug. Harry didn't return the hug but offered her a weak smile, she graced with a watery half-grimace, half-smile.

Then Harry returned his attention to the flickering pyre, and Harry had no idea how much later it was when Dumbledore gripped Harry's shoulder with his oddly strong hand and said, "Harry, one can't put a time limit on grief, but the living must continue to take care of themselves."

Harry blinked and turned to look at the old man, the fire burning in his retinas. Dumbledore wasn't looking at him, but instead studying the dying flames.

"I feel as though I've failed you once more," Dumbledore conceded.

Harry decided this was like one of those moments of kindness from a torturer that made people develop Stockholm Syndrome…Harry wondered if it was worth the effort to self-diagnose…

"Come, Harry," Dumbledore said, but Harry could tell it was only a suggestion.

Perhaps...it was time to offer up his moment of kindness, so Harry stood, pointedly looking away from Dumbledore.

Then Harry found the perfect thing to say, and turned to look at Dumbledore, "I don't blame you," Harry told Dumbledore, wondering if his voice sounded as haughty to Dumbledore as it did to him, "I blame Madam Pomfrey and…well," Harry cleared his throat and turned away, "I don't _completely_ blame you."

Harry made his way up to the castle, not bothering to look back at Dumbledore, wondering what happened to his moment of kindness.

Harry unclenched his hands and the breeze felt awkward against his palms.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

"Subject and appointed escorts will be flooing directly into Ollivander's," Kingsley explained, "then Subject will find and purchase a replacement wand and will return, with appointed escorts, to Point 1 directly."

"But what about money?" Harry demanded, completely interrupting the briefing that he was supposed be ignoring, "won't I have to go to the bank?"

"It's been taken care of," Kingsley said, "that's article four of the briefing, and I thought you had a silencing sphere around you."

Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged and tried not to appear embarrassed…he'd thought he'd popped something… "Well, clearly a failure on your part and just how many articles of this damn thing are there? If we aren't going to go soon, I'm going to find lunch."

"There are sixteen," Kingsley replied, "and if you leave then this trip can certainly be post-poned."

"I'm just saying, I don't see the need for this to be a full out auror mission! It's a _shopping trip_ not a reconnaissance mission."

"Quite right, Harry, that was earlier this week," Kingsley replied, "now, do be quiet and let us finish the briefing!"

Harry groaned and banged his head into the wall.

"Article Four, Part One, A: An amount of 20 galleons have been removed from Subject's vault…"

Harry huffed and slid off his chair onto the floor and curled up in a ball, as all the aurors stared on, Kingsley stopped his dictation to glare at Harry.

"Oh, don't stop on my account, please," Harry told his audience, "wouldn't want to get in the way of 'official auror business'."

Kingsley returned to reading the mission plan and Harry closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Harry woke up to a nudge in his side and: "You have got some nerve, kid."

"That's about right actually," Harry said, holding up his hands and twiddling his fingers, "some nerves."

Harry sat up and wiped the drool from his mouth, getting a rather unimpressed glare from Kingsley. "Right, so now…Subject departs by floo from Base 1 right?"

Harry hoisted himself up and stretched and wondered just how he'd managed to pull that muscle in his back.

"And isn't Code Name: Gandalf supposed to be rendezvous in…what was Ollivander's code name?"

Kingsley didn't deign a response, and Harry decided he deserved that, he had been awful since he'd woken up after the "accident."

Kingsley held out a bag and demanded, "Do you remember the floo address?"

Harry pretended to think and then asked, "Knockturn Alley?"

"Do you _want_ a new wand?" Kingsley demanded, finally fed up.

"_Sorry_!" Harry huffed and he grabbed some floo powder from the bag and headed up to the fireplace, "and yes, I know what the address is, I'm not stupid no matter how much people tend to believe it."

And Harry flooed away before Kingsley could respond.

Harry kept his eyes closed and elbows tucked in as far as possible, praying his glasses were okay…until he remembered he wasn't wearing them.

Harry landed, hard, the impact jolting up from his tailbone to his brain, that felt like it had been swirled around in his head.

Harry opened one eye and saw Dumbledore smiling down benevolently on him.

"Hello, Code Name: Gandalf," Harry greeted, "Glad to see you arrived safely at the you-know-where for the you-know-what for you-know—" Harry cleared his throat, and stopped that train of thought, gaining a chuckle from Dumbledore and a couple of the aurors that hadn't begun looking around nervously.

"Mister Potter," Ollivander's wispy voice seeped out from the shadows, as Kingsley landed quickly followed by a few more aurors, "Mysterious wand destructions don't often go without physical," Ollivander swept out of the back of the shop and up to Harry, "and metaphysical scarring."

Harry remained silent.

"May I see your hands," Ollivander requested, as he crept forward a few more inches.

Harry stared at the man for a few moments and was surprised that his mind wasn't being probed. After a moment, he decided there couldn't be much harm in it, and held out his hands.

He immediately regretted that decision as Ollivander's long, bony fingertip touched the center of the purplish starburst and sent electrical, metallic jolts through his body.

"A magical starburst," Ollivander told Harry, "the sign of a magical explosion or a large accumulation of magic," Ollivander turned his attention to Harry right hand and asked, seemingly less interested, "Silver?"

"Steel," Harry corrected, "Madam Pomfrey says it'll come out soon."

"Curious, Curious," Ollivander murmured. "Now," Ollivander flitted to one of the shelves, aurors darting out of his way, and carefully extracted a wand box, "13 inches, holly, and dragon heartstring, a more usual combination than your last wand, but possibly, possibly as compatible."

Harry reached out for the wand but before he was within six inches of it bolts of…something, it looked like electricity, the same shade as the coloring in his left hand, jerked out of his hand and struck at the wand which popped and began warping. Harry stumbled back quickly, his heart pumping, his eyes wide.

Ollivander stared down into the box and then slowly raised his eyes to Harry, putting the lid back on the box and placing on his desk.

Ollivander studied Harry for a long while before going for another box.

"9 and a half inches, ash, unicorn hair, very agreeable," Ollivander said slowly, cautiously.

Harry swallowed and just as slowly and cautiously took the few steps between them and held his hand out to take hold of the wand.

Harry actually managed to touch this one and it heated rapidly under his fingertips and exploded instantly, the box flying apart. The pieces of wand and cardboard flew away from him and Ollivander and struck the walls; Harry took in a shuddering breath and checked to make sure he was still okay.

He sighed with relief once he saw no debris had struck him and went to brush his hair out of his face when he caught sight of a short, pure white hair attached to his finger. Harry shook his hand quickly to get the hair off, but that didn't work and he ended up picking the hair off and tossing it aside.

"That was a valuable unicorn hair, Mister Potter," Ollivander informed him.

"Oops," Harry replied, and he turned to look, uselessly for it.

"Mister Potter," Ollivander interrupted, "you have tried two very different wands, one which would be useable to any person here, and I'm not sure it would be prudent to have you try a third."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed.

"Your left hand obviously has magical damage which would make it difficult for a compatible wand to be found if you were left handed, but not entirely impossible, however your wand has no magical damage and yet it reacts more violently than the average magically wounded hand."

Harry was pretty sure he didn't like where this was headed, "So why don't we try my left hand? You said it was possible to find a compatible wand even with a magical wound, right?"

"But you're right handed," An auror contested.

"Yeah, but what about people who have an amputated arm, they can learn to use their non-dominant hand to write, why not with a wand?" Harry asked, "Couldn't we try that?"

Ollivander studied Harry for a moment and then went to the shelf where he'd gotten the last wand, "9 and a half inches," Ollivander introduced, "ash, unicorn hair, compatible with 99 percent of the population."

Harry reached out for it with his left hand and he could _feel_ the wand, even from this far away. Harry's fingers twitched and he could see the wand echo the motion, he suddenly had a bad feeling about this. Harry pulled his hand away and felt part of the wand come with him, the wand snapped into tiny pieces and Harry's hand jerked and twitched The unicorn hair flew out of the splinters of wood and into the center of Harry's palm , Harry twisted his hand around to stare at it, and the part of the wand he could feel grouped around the unicorn hair, glowed green and then snapped into nothing.

The unicorn hair fluttered off Harry's hand.

"That settles it then," Ollivander explained, "I believe that you're unable to use a wand, Mister Potter."

There was utter silence, then the aurors began talking to each other disbelievingly.

"This doesn't leave this building," Dumbledore almost roared over the din, Harry turned to stare at him.

"If this hits the press," Kingsley added for good measure, "it's all of your heads!"

"Are you quite sure?" Dumbledore demanded of Ollivander, "Surely, there must…"

"You saw the same thing I saw," Ollivander replied, "those were magical reactions, he's incompatible with wands, there's nothing to be done about it."

"Is there some other way, some other cores—another way for him to yield magic?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Wait, what do you mean I can't yield magic?" Harry demanded, "what about what just happened, he said it was magic! You said it was magic! So I can't use a wand, doesn't that still leave wandless magic?"

"It was a magical reaction, Harry," Dumbledore explained, pity and disbelief in his eyes, "a _negative_ magical reaction, meaning there's a conflict between you and the magic around you. Did you notice any discomfort when you touched magical objects, any problems with spells cast around you?"

"I have 'discomfort' whenever I touch anything," Harry replied, "what does that have to do with anything?"

"And you didn't see fit to tell anyone?"

"considering the wonderful exchange of information between the two of us, I don't see fit to tell you or anyone else anything," Harry retorted, "and I still don't see why I still can't do magic, isn't blowing stuff up without touching it magic?"

"Blowing up wands shows an incompatibility with all magic," Kingsley informed him.

"No, that just means you're too lazy to find the wand that's compatible with the other one percent of the population," Harry retorted, "and I'm pretty sure I would've noticed if I was incompatible with magic."

"Harry!" Dumbledore said sharply, "we shouldn't be fighting over this; the fault is no one's—"

"I'm still claiming the right to blame you," Harry told him. "And there are other ways to do magic!"

Dumbledore made his way over to Harry who was ready to push that look of pity off his face, and placed his hands down heavily on his shoulders, "Harry, you must face the fact that you are now unable to do magic, and that is it."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_**

Back in Dumbledore's office, Harry sat slouched in one of the many chairs, steadfastly staring out of the window. Fawkes perched on the armrest of his chair crooning for attention, the bird's long neck pushed out so it was visible in Harry peripheral vision.

"I'll have this settled immediately, Harry," Dumbledore was saying, "you'll have the best tutor to catch you up on all you've missed, if you study hard enough you should be able to go to university in a few years and have a normal muggle life. Of course, you can never speak of the magical world, and it's advisable that you don't return, though I suppose you could still keep in touch with Ron and Hermione."

Fawkes gave a pathetic chirp that sounded almost like a sob and brushed his soft feathered head against Harry's face.

"Careful Fawkes," Harry warned half-heartedly, and he turned to look at the bird which immediately began preening his hair, cooing. "I might blow you up too."

Something wet landed on Harry's neck and he reached up to brush it away and Fawkes pushed his head into Harry hand and that's when Harry saw the bird was crying.

"Christ!" Harry exclaimed in disgust, and Fawkes bounced to perch on Harry's leg and continued crying.

"Yeah, my life is over Fawkes, thanks for the sentiment," Harry muttered, "Eat your heart out, Voldemort."

"Harry, your life is not over," Dumbledore chided, "in fact look at this as a new beginning, a new adventure."

"Funny you should word it like that," Harry said, "someone, who I blame for this entire mess, once told me that death is the next great adventure."

Dumbledore sighed and suggested, "Why don't you go pack up your things, say goodbye to your friends…"

"Arrange my affairs, write out my will, have a black parade…"

"Harry, do stop, you're distressing Fawkes," Dumbledore sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, "I am sorry that you've lived such an ill-fortuned life, Harry, I truly am, but I will do my best to have you comfortably placed in the muggle world. You can live a life there, Harry, a peaceful life; it is a way for you to start over without you destiny looming over you. I can assure you that Voldemort will probably stop actively pursuing you. Push yourself in your studies, learn all you need quickly, go to university, settle down and enjoy your life in a way that would be impossible here."

Harry sighed and closed his eyes and tried to think up a suitable response, only one seemed right.

"I _still_ blame you."

"You lessened the amount of vitriol that time" Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly, "It seems I've made progress."

"Get stuffed," Harry retorted, hoisting Fawkes (and damn, was that bird heavy) off his leg and back onto the armrest, ignoring that it didn't hurt or feel weird when he touched the phoenix...course the pheonix also felt like a strange dark, glowing purple to Harry, so he clearly wasn't te best judge of what felt right or weird... "So I'm off to arrange my affairs and say goodbye."

Harry headed over to the office door and felt Fawkes alight on his shoulder, still crying and crooning, the small feathery head rubbing tears into Harry cheek…this _must_ look _so_ wrong.

Harry opened the door, and headed out, he heard Dumbledore calling for Fawkes, but Harry decided if he was being kicked out of school he could take the damn bird with him.

Fawkes made a strange high pitched whine and Harry rolled his shoulder, prompting Fawkes to flap his large wings to maintain balance.

"Do you have any idea how heavy you are?" Harry asked the bird, who crooned and began preening his hair again.

"Lovely," Harry sighed, "I'm being kicked out of the magical world, and everyone's still stuck on how bad my hair looks…"

Harry continued the trek up to Gryffindor Tower and arrived with Fawkes still crooning sadly on his shoulder, Harry was pretty sure he didn't like this song anymore. It far too over-played.

Harry pulled Fawkes off his shoulder and set him down on the ground as he spoke the password and stepped in.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed brightly, "Let's see it!"

Harry turned around and picked Fawkes off the floor and then held him out to Ron.

Ron looked extremely confused and said, "He's crying."

"Oh, don't mind that," Harry replied nonplussed, "he's been doing it since we got back."

After a moment Harry's arms got tired and he turned to give the phoenix to Hermione, who took it under protest.

"Now, I'm off to pack, say goodbye, and arrange my other affairs," Harry continued brightly. "Which reminds me, who wants Hedwig? Can't have an owl in the muggle world, now can I?"

Silence met this statement.

"Okay," Harry said, shrugging, "I'll ask the other houses later," and he turned and made his way up the dormitory stairs. He rolled his eyes when he heard people following him, probably Ron and Hermione.

He reached the dormitory and kicked his trunk open and began gathering his things.

"Harry," Hermione exclaimed breathless, as Fawkes soared overhead to perch on the top of one of the posts of Harry's bed, "what did you mean? Why are you going to the muggle world?"

"I'm being kicked out," Harry replied, as he dumped some clothes next to his trunk and then realized he wouldn't be able to get anything in there given its current state of disorganization. "I have to go back to the muggle world."

"Why?" Hermione demanded, "What happened?"

"That's classified auror business," Harry replied, "I was threatened with death if I told, but basically it all comes down to me being kicked out of school and the magical world."

Fawkes let out a mournful, eerie tune that made Harry's skin crawl.

"That about sums it up," Harry added after a moment. "So please, just give me a moment alone with my trunk."

"But Harry…" Hermione said softly, looking lost.

"Don't worry, Dumbledore says we can still talk," Harry replied, "I'll give you my address once I get one and you can show Ron how to properly mail a letter. Now just…I'll talk to you guys in a little okay."

"All right," Ron said backing away, not sure what to do.

Hermione sobbed, as she gave him a quick hug, and said, "Oh, Harry!"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "pretty much."

They left, Ron stoic and Hermione crying silently. Harry turned to Fawkes and confided, "That went well."

Harry dropped down on his knees in front of his trunk and began straightening everything in it to make room for all of his other belongings. It took a little while to do and a bit of pushing and pulling, but it was finished.

All that was still left was Harry's broom and the photo album of his parents.

Harry sat down on his bed and began flipping through the album, though he knew what every picture looked like, Fawkes fluttered down from the post and settled on his empty nightstand. The phoenix was still crooning and crying.

"Don't you run out eventually?" Harry asked it.

The bird stared mournfully at him and continued crying. Harry fell back on his bed, and placed the album next to him. After a moment he noticed something sharp was poking him, and he reached down to see what it was.

That damn crowbar.

Harry dug in his pocket and pulled it out and glared at it, this broken thing had ruined his life—completely and utterly.

Harry resolved to take revenge: he would toss it in the Thames, melt it down, or something. It could not get away with what it'd done!

Harry got off his bed, deciding he pandered enough time away, no sense in drawing the torture out after all. He turned to his trunk to pick it up, and then realized, it would be _way _too heavy for him to do that.

He was going to have to get someone else to bring it down for him or charm it weightless. It was a major blow to his pride that he couldn't do things that a fourteen year old could.

Harry stared down at the crowbar in his hand and said, "_I hate you_." Then he pointed the crowbar at the trunk and called, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The electrical fizzing feeling he remembered, vaguely, from the night of the "accident" exploded in his chest and coursed down his arm, leaving him breathless and shaking.

And the trunk rose about a foot off the floor. Harry dropped the crowbar, but the trunk remained in the air, Harry's heart pounded in his chest. And a strange feeling, a mixture of euphoria and adrenaline spread from his stomach all over his body.

Harry sunk down to the floor and muttered in faint disbelief, "_Finite."_

Nothing happened; Harry grabbed at the crowbar and waved it repeating the spell and the trunk eased back to the floor. That's when Harry noticed that Fawkes was trumpeting out a song of conquest.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Harry demanded, not able to put his heart behind the accusation, because of the shocked elation coursing through his veins, "you could've told me, you know."

Harry stared around the room not sure what to do now. All was not lost, he could still do magic, apparently Dumbledore and the rest of the magical world didn't know everything.

Harry had a bone to pick with several people; he pocketed the crowbar, and he had several people to prove wrong. Harry's eyes feel on his broom and he decided that when he proved the whole world wrong he might as well do it well.

Harry had a victory parade to arrange. But first, he unlocked his trunk reached in grabbed an armful of his stuff and dumped it on the floor.

That done, he stalked over to his broom and called, "Up!"

**_C'est Finit_**

yes, that's it, it's over...however, I am curious as to how many of you are interested in a sequel... -hint, nudge-


End file.
